House Call
by time4moxie
Summary: Cinderella meets Groundhog Day meets Dr. Gregory House. Pam will never be the same. Set during S3's Ben Franklin.


**Chapter 1**

Pam dejectedly walked into her apartment, letting her coat fall to the floor as she shrugged out of it and headed straight for the couch. She'd had a headache for most of the afternoon, but that wasn't the real malady. What was hurting most of all was her pride.

She kicked her shoes under the coffee table and curled her legs up under her. She grabbed the oversized pillow from the floor and wrapped her arms around it tight as she leaned against the side arm of the couch. She wanted to disappear from the world around her, maybe slip under the cushions and find herself in another world where there was no Jim and no Karen and no kisses that apparently meant nothing to anyone but her.

She felt like crying, but her eyes remained dry. She'd been doing that for months now, and Pam thought that perhaps she was finally all out of tears. What was the point of them anyway? She hugged the cushion closer and tried to find some respite in sleep, but the images and conversations of the work day kept playing over and over in her head.

_Never underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. _

_No, I'm sure you're right._

_When I get eight hours, compared to like six hours, like, big difference..._

_Good Advice, Beesly...see you out there. _

._..Jim told me about you guys._

_...It's just a kiss._

_...Wait – you're not still interested in him?_

_Do you know who was totally flirting with Ben Franklin? Pam._

_...any real potential there Beesly?_

_...God, I need a boyfriend._

"Aiii!" Pam groaned, throwing the pillow to the floor. She had achieved a trifecta of idiocy today, of that she was sure. When did she lose all ability to talk to Jim like that? And Karen? She didn't know what to make of Karen. If Pam was paranoid, she would believe that the whole kitchen conversation was Karen marking out her territory in no uncertain terms. But why would she even need to do that?

"I have to stop thinking," she muttered to herself, leaning across the coffee table to grab the television remote. There had to be something that could distract her from her depressing life.

A quick flip through the channels made no impression, and she wondered if she'd have to put in a movie when she remembered something. Grabbing the VCR remote she turned it on and hit rewind. Because she had a class on Tuesdays, she knew she had at least one episode of House waiting for her. That brought a slight smile to her face for the first time since she'd come home.

As she listened to the whir of the tape spinning backwards, she grabbed some tortilla chips and a pot of guacamole from the fridge and settled back on the couch. Not the healthiest of meals, but exactly the kind of comfort food she needed. She also remembered the ice cream waiting for her in the freezer. If everything else in her life seemed to suck right now, at least she could eat her favorite foods and watch her favorite television show.

She was more delighted than perhaps she should have been when she discovered that she had two episodes taped, even if it appeared at that least the first one was a repeat. There was something so satisfying in watching Gregory House let out all the things he wanted to say, not caring how people reacted. Sure, Pam knew he was just a tv character, and that in real life such an insolent attitude could have consequences that House never seemed to have to deal with, but deep down she wished that just once she could be like that.

The magic of the food and the entertainment worked, and Pam finally felt herself relaxing. In fact she never even made it to dessert as she dozed off during the middle of the second episode.

It didn't seem like she'd been asleep for long when she felt something hitting her ankle. She was lying stretched out on the couch by this point, so she groggily moved her feet and turned over to face the cushions. Then she felt a harder push against the back of her thigh, like something was jabbing her. Irritated, she sat up to see what was bothering her.

She gasped in shock as she saw Dr. Gregory House seated in the armchair next to her, his feet crossed casually and resting on her coffee table. He twirled his cane – the object of her assault - slowly between his fingers.

"Do you know you're practically impossible to wake up?" He said in a bemused tone. "You might want to check into one of those sleep-study clinics. There's definitely something not right with you."

**Chapter 2**

Pam was too dumbfounded to be frightened by the fact a strange man was in her apartment. After all, she knew him – sort of. But he wasn't real, her mind kept telling her. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Nope, still here," he smirked as he watched her.

"What are you doing here?" It was all she could think of to say.

"That," he replied, taking his feet off the coffee table, "is a very good question."

"You don't know either?"

"Oh no, of course I know," he said as he stood up. "I just didn't expect you'd have thought to question it."

He started to pace around the small room, despite his obvious limp. "I mean," he continued, "you don't seem capable of questioning anything."

Pam frowned and sat up straighter. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" he mimicked in a high falsetto. "I'm talking about how you are miserable with your life by you aren't in the least bit interested in why that might really be or what you could be doing differently."

"That's not true," she protested.

House stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrow at her sceptically. "Isn't it?" He asked. "Can you sit there and honestly tell me you are doing everything in your power to stop being so damned miserable?"

Pam was sure this must be a dream, and was getting angry at the attack. "Why do you care?" She threw back. "You adore being miserable."

House nodded. "Well, yeah – but that's me. I know how to carry off miserable. It looks good on me. But you?" He groaned in distaste. "Frankly it's just annoying." He went to take another step but stopped and looked at her again. "And don't get me started on that boyfriend of yours."

"What boyfriend? I don't have --"

"Oh, don't start," he sneered, cutting her off. "You know who I mean. Halfred? Halfpint? Halfbaked?"

"Halpert?"

"Yeah," he said, snapping his fingers. "That's it. Jim Halpert." He let out a sarcastic laugh. "Now there's a guy who defines pathetic miserableness, emphasis on the pathetic."

Pam was growing more confused by the minute. She shook her head firmly. "He's not my boyfriend."

House rolled his eyes. "Okay, sure. Whatever."

"He's dating Karen."

"I know that," he replied patronizingly. "Doesn't it bother you that your boyfriend is dating someone else? I'm pretty sure it would bother me. But maybe you're more of a swinger than you look."

"He's not my boyfriend." Pam repeated. For all her love of him in the contents of his television show, she was starting to discover that maybe this guy wasn't quite so enjoyable when he turned his attention on you.

He ignored her asserting and absent-mindedly patted the front of his blazer. "I could have sworn I had one...oh, wait." He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a red dry erase marker. He walked over to a bare spot on Pam's white living room wall.

"Okay," he said, clearing his throat and uncapping the pen. "Let's start out with all the things that are wrong with you. What are your symptoms?" He paused, thinking. "And this covers him too, actually, since I'm already pretty sure that you both suffer from the same thing."

"Wait!" Pam cried out.

"Hmm?" House barely looked back at her.

"That's my wall, not a dry erase board," she told him.

House shrugged. "Same difference."

He paused only a moment longer and then wrote STUPID in big capital letters on the wall.

"Now that is a given," he explained, pointing to what he'd just written. "Catastrophic loss of the most basic logic functions."

"Hey," Pam grumbled, feeling more than a bit offended.

"Irritability," he said as he added the word to the wall. "Oh, and a sense of distorted reality."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said slowly, "Neither of you see what's really going on."

He turned his attention back to the wall and wrote down a few more things. Pam stood up and walked over to see what he'd written.

Delusional. Paranoia. Compulsive Avoidance. Lack of Self-Awareness. Irrational Fear of Water. Insomnia.

"Irrational fear of water?" She queried.

"Oops, sorry," he said, drawing a quick line through the last two words. "That's rabies. But there's definitely irrational fear." He took a long look over the list of symptoms, then scribbled "loss of sense of humor".

"So," he said, stepping back. "You're on my team. Well, I mean you are my team seeing as you're the only other one here." He drew a large circle around all the words. "What one condition explains all these symptoms?"

Well aware of how this part of his television show played out, Pam couldn't resist her reply.

"Lupus?" She suggested, as seriously as she could.

House did a slight double take and very nearly smiled. "Funny," he said dryly, and leaned in to add the word 'some' in front of 'loss of sense of humor'. "Any other ideas?"

"Brain tumor?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" He nodded. "But it's worse than that."

"Worse?"

"Worse. There are no known pharmaceutical remedies for what we're facing if it's what I suspect it is, and I'm usually correct in my suspicions."

"What do you think it is?"

House recapped the pen. "I think it's obvious."

Pam looked up at him expectantly, as if for a moment this whole bizarre interaction was something she did every day.

"Okay," she prompted. "What is it?"

"The inability to tell the truth," he said with finality. He walked past her and sat back down in the armchair, his feet soon propped comfortably on the coffee table once more.

Pam turned around. "That's it?"

"That's it?" He scoffed. "That's everything." He took his feet off the table and leaned forward. "Has it never occurred to you that everything can be solved by just telling him what's really going on with you?"

"I don't think he'd care," she replied softly. "It's too late for that."

"Is it? And you know that how exactly?"

"He has a girlfriend."

"So you keep saying But so what? Do you know for a fact that he's happy? Does he look happy to you?"

Pam sank back down on the couch before replying. He was coming at her with questions she'd been too afraid to ask out loud for months now.

"I don't know. He barely talks to me anymore. Karen acts like things are great between them."

House brought his cane down on the coffee table with enough force that Pam jumped. He leaned forward even further, his face serious. "Karen lies," House declared.

He leaned back. "Everybody lies," he said, this time with less intensity. "And you should know that better than anyone."

****

Chapter 3

"So what are you saying?"

Pam was pretty sure she knew exactly what he was saying, but she felt extremely uncomfortable with what he was suggesting.

"I'm saying – Pamela Jane Beesly," House enunciated ever syllable of her name as if it was some unpronounceable exotic tropical disease, "You've got to step up to the plate. You've got to go for the fences. Knock one out of the park with all the bases loaded. You've got to take one for the team. Push it into extra innings." He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Scratch that last one. But you get what I mean."

"What? Just walk up to him and tell him exactly how I feel?"

"Ah ha!" He exclaimed standing up again. "So you at least acknowledge you feel something for the jerk." He started walking toward the kitchen. "You don't happen to have any coffee, do you? You know, the good kind – not the stuff they push on you to save indigenous populations."

Pam got up to follow him. "Wait – you can't drink coffee."

He turned back toward her. "No? Why can't I?"

"Well," Pam waved her hands in the space between them, "you're not real."

"I'm not?" House looked genuinely surprised. "Whatever in the hell ever gave you that idea?"

"But...but you're not!" Pam continued, starting to doubt her sanity. "You're a character on a television show."

"Well of course I am," House harrumphed, and walked into the kitchen. "I thought you implying I was ghost or one of the undead or something." He started rummaging through a top cabinet. "Where do you keep the coffee?"

Pam sighed and gave in to the motions of busying herself with brewing a pot of coffee. At least this prevented him for talking more about her and Jim, and she was starting to think that maybe coffee would do her some good as well. Though the fact she was starting to believe she was talking to the Gregory House was enough to make her want to reach for a much stronger drink.

She had just poured them each a mug when House got back to the topic at hand. "So tell me, how long do you plan on living like this?"

Pam furrowed her brow. "You mean on my own?"

He sighed. "If we're going to play the runaround game then I might as well leave you alone on this path of destruction right now. I'm sure it will be fun to watch." He sipped his coffee. "Or something."

She was quiet as she stared into her mug. "I don't know what to do," she admitted finally.

"There you go," House said loudly, startling her. "Finally we are getting somewhere."

"Yeah, nowhere fast," she replied sardonically.

"Good, more humor," he observed. "There might be hope for you yet, Beesly."

"Thanks," she replied, mostly to herself.

"Now tell me. What is so damn hard about telling him how you really feel?"

"Everything," she exhaled loudly.

"Really?"

"Yes," she nodded emphatically.

"That's bullshit."

"Hey, now wait a minute --"

"It's bullshit," he repeated. "Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself is easier than talking to him with a little thing we like to call honesty?"

"It's only going to make things worse," she said. "I know it would."

"Right." House stood up from the barstool at the kitchen counter and picked up his half-empty mug. "I can see how things could possibly get worse than this --" he waved his mug around the room before pouring more into it. "This living alone, coming home alone every night, never going out, never being with people beyond your job requirement." He took another drink of his coffee. "That has got to be the life. I really, really envy you."

"Shut up," Pam grumbled.

"No, really – tell me more about this wonderful life you have right now." He started to walk back toward the living room. "When's the last time you had sex with something not battery operated?"

Pam's head jerked up and she couldn't stop the blush creeping across her face if she'd wanted to. "That's – that's...it doesn't matter."

"No, of course it doesn't," he agreed, leaving her sitting alone at the counter.

Pam finished her coffee and debated what next to do. Clearly this was all a strange dream, right? So why couldn't she wake herself up? Maybe she should just go to bed; maybe that would make him go away.

"Are you going to just hide in the kitchen now?" She heard him call. He really was more irksome in real life than on television, she thought, then corrected herself it wasn't real at all. Still, the tone of slight contempt in his voice rattled up her defenses, and she knew that dream or not, she wasn't about to back down to Dr. Gregory House. She put her mug in the sink and strode purposefully back into the living room. He was seated on the chair again, feet up. She walked over, pushed his feet off the coffee table and sat down where his feet had been.

"Fine," she said, a note of challenge in her voice. "Tell me what I should do."

****

Chapter 4

"The first place to start is to look at the history. I know you've got plenty of that."

"Too much, almost," she agreed.

"Maybe, maybe not." He hit her leg with his cane. "Can I have my space back?"

"Sure," she mumbled, slipping back over to the couch. She picked the pillow back up off the floor and wrapped her arms around it for the second time that night.

"There you go again," House sighed dramatically.

"What?"

"You're already in hiding mode." He grabbed the pillow out of her hands and flipped it over his shoulder. "Now sit up and tell me what you know about Jim Halpert."

"Fine," she retorted, moving to sit on the very edge of the couch, her posture raised almost to the point of comical. "What do you mean 'what do I know'?"

"Wow, you know – I had hopes that thought that deep down you were smart girl. But the simplest of questions are really throwing you tonight, aren't they?"

"I know a lot about Jim Halpert," she responded testily. "But I'm not going to sit here and rattle off a list of trivia that doesn't mean anything. I want to know what you're getting at."

"How did he look at you when you were telling him about the importance of sleep in the break room today?"

"I don't know. He probably thought I was insane."

"Think. How was he looking at you?"

"I don't remember," she sighed.

"You don't remember because you weren't paying attention," he told her. "You think you know what's going on around you, but in reality you know nothing at all."

House tapped the tip of his cane against his foot as Pam sat in silence. What did he want her to say? She paid attention – especially when it came to Jim. She had no choice, really. He was like a magnet that kept drawing her in. She knew every time he got up from his desk, watched him drink every bottle of water, even watched when Karen came over to plan their evening together or simply show him some affection. All she seemed to do anymore what think about him.

She looked up to see that he was watching her intently. "What?" She said, feeling defensive.

House sighed again, and sat up in his chair. "Here, pass me the remote," he said almost wearily. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to reach into my bag of tricks so soon, but apparently you enjoy being difficult."

She handed him the television remote. She wasn't sure what time it was, but she knew it was pretty late. What could be on that he'd want her to see – an infomercial for putting your love live on course? Maybe if she ordered now they'd throw in the Ginsu knives as a free gift.

It took her a minute to recognize the people on the screen. Then she did a double take. "What is this?" She demanded.

"I would think you'd recognize yourself," House replied disparagingly. "That you, see? And that tall, skinny, good-looking guy who looks surprisingly like me? That's Jim. And I think --" he added, leaning toward the television, "that's you talking to him today in the break room."

"I know that," she sniped back. "How in the world did you get us on film?"

House waved his hand dismissively. "Can't say. Non-disclosure agreement and all that."

Pam looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Don't worry about it. You'll find out eventually." He pointed his cane at the set. "Pay attention to Jim this time, okay?"

Pam watched that morning's awkward conversation play out, cringing in embarrassment even more than she had at the time it happened. Jim must truly be convinced she'd an idiot. Probably happy he made a break for it when he did.

House paused the screen as Jim walked out of the break room. "So what did you notice this time?"

"He seemed about as awkward as I was?" It was more of a question than a statement, really. She couldn't see anything that stood out and said he really wanted to be with her, nothing in the way of encouragement to open her heart up.

House shook his head, disappointed. He pressed a button and the screen flipped back to the beginning of their conversation. "Let's watch again, shall we?"

"How did you do that?" Pam knew he had the television remote, not the vcr.

"Magic," he said snidely. "And you're missing the point, Beesly."

"Sorry."

"Now this time ignore your babbling and focus on him. What is he doing while you're talking? Where is he looking? It's not about what he said, but what _didn't_ he say?"

He played the loop two more times as Pam kept her eyes glued on Jim. She hadn't noticed the almost hopeful-sounded pitch to his voice when he first greeted her. She hadn't noticed how his eyes never seemed to leave her face, except when he talked about Karen, and how talking about Karen make him stiffen up slightly. Like he really didn't like talking about Karen to her. But it wasn't that, exactly, she thought. She couldn't quite put her finger on it though.

"Can I see it again?" She asked as the third viewing ended.

"Paying attention now, are we?"

Pam stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm trying."

House was about to reset the loop but then put the remote down. "Why did you follow him in there?"

"I wasn't --" Pam stopped and corrected herself mid-sentence. "I saw how weird Karen was acting and I wanted to know what was going on, if anything."

"And did you expect he was just going to pour out his heart to you?"

"I don't know – no, no I guess not. But I just wanted to talk to him. I never get to talk to him anymore."

House walked over to the wall and wrote another word inside the circle: desperate. He started the loop and sat back down. Pam didn't even argue with his newest symptom. She knew how true it was.

Finally on the fourth viewing she noticed something new. When Jim mentioned he and Karen had been up talking, he made a face she hadn't seen in a long time. It was what she used to refer to as the 'help me' face – the widened eyes, the clenched smile he used to make when Michael or Dwight had caught him in a situation he wanted freed from. All he had to do was make that face and Pam knew to make up an incoming business call for him. She wondered if he'd even knew he'd done it today.

"You can turn it off," she said softly. "I get your point."

He did and dropped the remote with a thud on the coffee table. "So what do you do?"

She shrugged and leaned back into the couch cushions. "I guess I just pay more attention when he talks to me. Try to make the most of times when he's being almost friendly."

"Lame."

"What?"

"What's that going to do, Beesly? Get you back on his Christmas card list? That's the same passive crap you've been perfecting since he's come back. What are you going to **do**?"

Pam put her head in her hands for a moment. She was feeling so drained from all of this. "I don't know. I never know when I'll have a moment alone with him anymore."

House tapped his cane on the floor a few times, then rested his head against it. "So you're saying that if you already knew of a situation where you'd be alone with him, you'd know what to do?"

"Like I'd have time to plan what I'd say and know I wouldn't be interrupted?"

"Eh, something like that. Maybe."

"I don't know. I wouldn't even know what to say."

House got up and wrote another word on the wall: Excuses.

"It's true!" She replied.

He leaned heavily on his cane, his head bowed for a few moments. "Okay, right. I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to fire up the big tricks, but it's pretty clear you have no intention of doing things the easy way."

"I would if I knew how."

"What if you could relive today? Would you know what to do then?"

"I guess – but that's about as possible as --"

"As a television character lecturing you in your living room?"

"But...how?"

"Don't worry about how. Worry about sounding a little less assinine this time."

He was fumbling for something in the pocket of his jeans when Pam started to feel slightly dizzy and a little panicky. He wasn't serious about having her relive that whole day, was he?

Before she could say anything else, she felt as if she was going to faint. When she opened her eyes again, she was seated at her desk at work, and the time on the clock behind her said nine-thirty. She was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn earlier, and so did everyone else. She watched as Karen got up out of her chair and walked around to Jim, hugging him around the neck just like she'd done before.

House wasn't kidding. She was reliving that work day.

"Oh boy," she sighed.

****

Chapter 5

Pam could not believe she was back at work. Right back to where she'd started that morning. She figured this was what Bill Murray's character first felt like in Groundhog Day. As she gazed through the outside windows in the conference room, she wondered if, like Bill, she could hurl herself off the building and not die. That might be a way to find out how Jim really feels, she mused morbidly.

"This is just a dream," she repeated yet again under her breath. Then ten o'clock arrived and so did Todd Packer. "No, this is a nightmare," she amended.

She stayed at her desk as she watched Packer make the usual fool of himself, starting as always with cracks about Jim's sexuality. She knew Jim hated Packer with the fire of a thousand suns (that was the exact phase he'd used more than once back when they commiserated together about such things). She always admired how he managed to hold it all in and ignore Packer's taunts. They both knew full well that like all bullies, responding to Packer only egged him on.

Which was why Pam involuntarily cringed when Karen introduced herself to Todd Packer as Jim's girlfriend. Packer, as expected, made an elaborate display of shock, while Jim sat there silently, a tight half-smile on his lips. Pam could see Jim's profile as Packer blustered on about Karen "either being a dude or Jim's been scared straight" - and the only reaction she saw from Jim was a brief glance up at Karen. Pam didn't think the look had been one of gratitude.

When Packer finally disappeared into Michael's office, Pam pretended to be copying messages as she listened to Karen quizzing Jim on what had just occurred. Why did Packer think Jim was gay? Why didn't he say something to shut the guy up? Pam couldn't hear Jim saying anything in response, so she glanced over a time or two. She saw him shrugging noncommittally a few times, and Karen looked to be getting frustrated with his lack of answers.

Finally, in a voice Pam thought was a little too loud for a private conversation, Karen said to Jim as she walked back to her desk: "Jim, he called me a dude!" Pam cringed again in embarrassment on Jim's behalf. How could Karen not know that wasn't the way to talk to him?

Still, it took Pam everything she had not to smile at that. Maybe things were broken between her and Jim, but she could still take tiny comfort that she still knew him better than Karen did. For whatever good that was doing her.

She'd almost – but not quite! - forgotten why she was living the day over until a little while later when she saw Jim stand up and head toward the kitchen. Heart pounding quite strongly in her throat, she got up on a shaky legs and discreetly followed him. She still had no idea what in the world she was going to say.

He was leaning down to get a bottle of water from the machine when she walked in.

"Hey," she said softly, stopping to stand at the vending machine like she'd done yester- er, earlier.

"Hey," he replied, straightening up. Again she heard that slightly hopefully-friendly tone. How had she missed it the first time?

Pam felt a bit breathless in her anxiety and sighed loudly. Like last time, Jim did the same thing.

"Everything okay?" She asked him. She was pretty sure this was how it started last time, and she struggled to figure out how to change it.

"Oh, yeah," he paused briefly, almost curiously. "Why?"

"Well, you seem a little tired." Pam mentally scolded herself for falling back into the previous conversation. But what else was there to say? Just jump out with 'I love you and I can't live without you?' Not likely. Jim's reply sounded to Pam like it was being read from a script – but only because by now she'd heard it almost a half dozen times.

"Oh, yeah...well I guess there've been a couple of late nights. Karen and I have been up talking..."

And there it was – the 'help me' face. Pam closed her eyes, held her breath and jumped into the deep end.

"You guys aren't getting along?" She silently cursed herself for sounding so hopeful.

If Jim was surprised by her comment, he quickly recovered. "No," he said quickly, almost emphatically. "No." He paused again, the looked at her. "Why would you think that?"

"No reason," Pam countered, wondering how far she could push, "I guess – well, I saw how she reacted to Packer and his usual list of insults."

"Yeah," he replied, rolling his eyes.

Pam pushed some more. "You didn't seem to be too thrilled with her telling him she was your girlfriend."

"What do you mean?" Jim's eyebrow quirked, and she noticed he was shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"When she introduced herself as your girlfriend," she reiterated nervously. "You didn't – well, you looked a bit annoyed."

Jim shook his head quickly. "I wasn't." Pam was surprised by how defensive he suddenly sounded.

"Oh, well," she stammered, trying to find a way to backpedal a bit, "I just know you aren't big on talking about your personal life in the office like that. Especially not in front of Packer."

"But I can, right?" He seemed to be challenging her to disagree. "I mean, that's okay with you, right?"

Pam didn't understand why he suddenly seemed angry. "Of course," she said softly.

"I mean," he continued, "how many years were we continually reminded you were Roy's fiance?"

"I didn't say --"

"Even when he wouldn't set the date, we all knew how it was always you and Roy."

She stared at him, mouth comically half-opened in shock at the venom in his voice. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes on his water bottle, opening and retightening the cap repeatedly.

"I've got to get back to my desk," he finally mumbled, walking out without another glance in Pam's direction.

Pam turned toward the vending machine and rested her head against the glass dejectedly. She willed herself not to cry, but it was clear it was a losing battle.

"Well, that went well," a gruff voice mused.

She looked over her shoulder, not at all surprised to see Greg House in the break room. She wiped her damp eyes and gave him the best glare she could manage as she turned around to face him.

"No, it did. It really did – I mean it."

"And how do you figure that, Dr. House?" Pam crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glower.

He leaned back on one of the round table, resting his hands on his cane that stood between his legs. "Beesly, what is the opposite of love?"

"Hate."

"Bzzz!" He sound loudly. "Oh, I'm sorry but that answer is incorrect. You won't get to move to the bonus round, I'm afraid, but that's for playing."

He straightened up a took a few steps toward her. "I'm afraid the answer the judges were looking for was indifference. Yes, in-diff-er-ence. Not giving a rat's ass. Or a monkey's uncle, for that matter. Not caring."

"I know what the word means," she snapped as he stopped in front of her.

"Then you should know that your ability to make him snap like that means something."

She sighed. "Maybe. I don't know."

"That's the spirit," he replied with clearly fake enthusiasm. "Now get back out there and cause some more trouble."

"Right." She walked past him in slow small steps, turning back when she reached the door frame. "You'll be around?"

"Maybe later," he shrugged. "I've got to get back to your place." He glanced at his watch. "Prescription: Passion is starting soon and Brock is about to discover he has a brother he never knew about. A siamese twin brother. Plus, I'd hate to have the delivery guy waiting at the door with cold Chinese. That credit card in your underwear drawer is good, right?"

"God, let this be a dream," she muttered as she walked back to her desk.

She glanced over at Jim as she neared his desk, but he quite deliberately turned his head to avoid eye contact with her. It was the only clue that anything had changed at all.

****

Chapter 6

Oh, God, no. Not Ben Franklin-slash-Gordon whoever again.

Pam regretted for yet another time having to relive this work day when Michael and Ryan walked back into the office with the Benjamin Franklin impersonator in tow. She had been helping set up for Phyllis's bridal shower, and doing her best to avoid looking in Jim's direction when she remember the next piece of this horrific day. She pinched herself one more time on the forearm, hoping against hope that this really was a dream. Unfortunately all she ended up with was another red mark on her arm.

She reminded herself that this time she was going to say as little as possible to Mr. Franklin so as not make the same mistake of having him think she was interested in him. She saw Meredith starting to pour the champagne and decided this time she'd be drinking at least two of those.

Pam went through the motions of appearing to pay attention to Ben Franklin's presentation, but her mind was filled with questions about the conversation she'd had earlier with Jim. He so rarely expressed anger - and even less so at her - that maybe House was right. Maybe there was still something there.

All too soon she was helping to clean up, throwing away trash and taking leftover cake back to the kitchen, when she found herself alone with Karen.

"So, I guess you have the Ben Franklin wig and the costume, and you figure 'How can I put this to practical use'?"

"Well, I like to think that his dad was a Ben Franklin impersonator, and he really pressured him into it."

Karen laughed briefly. "Hey, I wanted to talk to you...I know this is weird or whatever..."

Pam could feel an awkward pause in the room. She knew what was coming next, but she still hadn't decided what to do about it this time. She focused instead on paying attention to not only what Karen was saying, but like House had told her before, what she wasn't saying.

"Um, Jim told me about you guys."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that you kissed. Um, we talked it through and it's totally fine - it's not a big deal. It's just a kiss."

Somehow hearing Karen say these things a second time reminded Pam of the scene she watched between Karen and Jim after Packer's performance. Karen practically was pulling information out of Jim; he certainly wasn't offering much in the way of explanations. She thought about what he said in the break room about being staying up late because he'd been talking to Karen. Pam had the sudden suspicion that the talks went on a long time not because he was the one doing all the talking.

She looked up and saw that Karen was watching her carefully. A bit too carefully, it seemed to Pam – given how casually was trying to act. This brought a single revelation to the forefront: It _was_ a big deal. It was a very big deal, and that's why Karen brought it up.

"Wait – you're not still interested in him?"

Why hadn't Pam heard the near-panic in Karen's voice the first time she said that? She could practically hear House in her head, telling her it was because she was too busy hiding to pay attention to what had been really going on.

Pam trusted her instinct as she replied to Karen's question. "My relationship with Jim is complicated," she said, calmly looking Karen in the eye. "It's probably best we leave it at that."

Karen looked as if she'd been slapped. "What do you mean?"

Pam reached for a paper towel and dried her hands. "Just what I said," she said quietly. "I don't like to talk about my personal life at work." She turned and walked out of the kitchen before Karen could say another word.

Pam wasn't surprised in the least to see House leaning against at the reception desk, waiting for her. Since everyone was either still downstairs or in the conference room, she didn't worry if she looked like a nut talking to someone no one else could even see.

"You look awfully pleased with yourself," he observed.

"I'm okay," Pam replied, with a slight smile.

"Okay?" House repeated. "Wow, that's like an outstanding for anybody else. What happened?"

Pam smirked. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you didn't have a front row seat for the whole thing."

"Yeah, but this is like the post-game highlights show. I want to what was going on in that head of yours, what your strategy is for the next match."

"There's not going to be a next match."

"Why not?"

"I figured something out."

"Really? This ought to be good. How did you manage that?"

"I listened to what she was saying."

"Get out."

Pam couldn't help laughing. "I did!"

"By Jones, the girl can be taught." He leaned further over the reception counter. "So did you tell her in no uncertain terms you didn't appreciate her going out with your boyfriend?"

"You know I didn't."

"Why not? You could have totally rocked her world."

Pam shrugged.

"So why didn't you let her have it? You know it was hardly 'just a kiss'. I mean, personally I think she had it coming. She's kind of a bitch, don't you think?"

Pam ignored his comment. "I said what I needed to."

"Yeah, but you could have really set her straight."

"I didn't need to."

"Why not?"

Pam examined her nails for a moment, then looked House in the eye. "_She's_ not the problem."

For the second time since she'd met him, House very nearly smiled. He nodded almost imperceptibly, encouraging her to go on. "Why not?"

She wanted to put it into terms she knew House would understand. "She's a red herring. She's the false positive that's hiding the real cause of the problem."

"Really, Dr. Beesly," he replied sarcastically. "Do tell me more."

"One of the things you always like to say is that people don't change, right?"

House rubbed his chin and pretended to think for a second. "It's a very astute observation, so yes, I must say that. I think I would say that sort of thing all the time, in fact."

"You do," Pam retorted wryly. "So anyway I was thinking about what I knew about Jim's personality – assuming that if he hasn't changed what I knew then is still roughly true now."

"Fair enough assertion," he nodded. "Go on."

"I also thought about what I've learned about Karen's personality since she's been here."

"And?"

"When she said they'd discussed our kiss and that it meant nothing, I just knew she was lying."

"I already told you she lies," House rolled his eyes comically.

"No, I finally knew it. And I knew she saw me as a threat." Pam paused, biting her lip. "And why would I be a threat if he longer still cared about me?"

House's eyebrows raised. "If people don't change..."

"Right. I mean," Pam faltered, "I'm not saying he would have to still care, but it's just --"

"Don't second guess yourself," House scolded. "You might just be on to something here."

"Maybe," she said softly.

"So what's next?" House asked, tapping the counter in much the same way Jim used to.

Before Pam could reply the men of the office came bounding back in from their barbeque in the warehouse, and House had disappeared. She noticed that as soon as Jim appeared, Karen was at his side speaking in hushed tones.

Pam thought that whatever came next was already being put in motion.

****

Chapter 7

The rest of the workday moved with the speed of the ice age, as Elizabeth the stripper and Ben Franklin milled around the office and Pam debated what she was going to do about Jim. In addition, Karen was shooting her odd looks while Jim maintained his distance, even when he asked her to fax some pages to corporate.

She couldn't believe that he managed not to look at her directly one single time as he approached, making his request as he stared at the papers in his hand. He even left them on the counter, as if handing them to her took too a great a risk of accidentally touching her. It was quite disheartening to Pam.

She began to rethink all of the assumptions she'd been making that day. Maybe she was wrong to think Jim hadn't changed. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted so desperately to see, what House had encouraged her to see. Pam really wanted to just go home and forget about everything. And everybody.

The phone rang and she wearily picked it up. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," she said emotionlessly.

"Pam...Just the person I was looking for. You're not flaking out on me, are you?"

Pam would have recognized that voice anywhere. "What do you want, Dr. House?"

"We didn't finish our conversation. What are you going to try next?"

"I don't know."

House scoffed. "Is that the only thing you know how to say?"

"I'm just – I don't know where to go from here." She looked up to make sure no one was listening. "He hasn't even acknowledged me all afternoon."

"Good."

"Good?"

"He's thinking. You've got him thinking."

"If you say so."

"Don't waste today, Pam," House said with a sudden seriousness. "Try something else."

Pam saw Angela approaching. "I've got to go." She hung the phone up before he could say another thing.

It was after three when Pam started to worry there was not going to be a chance to talk to Jim. Pam took frequent breaks to walk to the kitchen, the bathroom, and the vending machine – each time hoping she'd catch him at some point. But except for his fax request earlier, he didn't move from his desk. Not that she had the tiniest clue as to what she would have said to him, but the first hurdle was getting a moment alone with him.

At quarter to four she noticed Karen walk over to his desk, leaning up against it like Pam remembered she used to be able to do.

"So, Halpert, where are you treating me tonight? Feel like trying that Thai place we drove past last weekend?"

Pam kept her eyes glued to her monitor. She felt sure this conversation was being initiated largely for her benefit, so she was determined not to give Karen the satisfaction of seeing she was listening. Not that it stopped her from straining to hear Jim's reply.

"I – ah, I really didn't have any plans," he finally replied.

"Oh." Karen seemed nonplussed. "Well, why don't you just come over and we can hang out at my place? We could order in and open that bottle of Pinot Noir you bought the other day."

"Can I take a rain check?" Out of the corner of her eye Pam could see Jim lean back in his chair and run one hand through his hair. "I still have a headache from the warehouse adventure earlier and I was hoping for an early night."

Karen didn't reply immediately, but Pam heard her push away from where she was resting on Jim's desk. "Sure," she finally said, her tone tight and clipped. "Whatever." By the time Pam ventured a glance across the room, Karen was already back at her desk, her head bowed low over a supply catalogue.

Pam couldn't help feeling a very slight pang of guilt when she realized that if Jim wasn't going to be going out with Karen tonight, then perhaps it was her window to approach him. But how? And under what pretense? She knew she'd never be able to talk to him with Karen nearby, so Pam relied on the false courage of email.

_  
Jim, _

_I know this is going to seem out of the blue, but I was wondering if perhaps you and I could meet up tonight after work._

_Thanks,_

_Pam_

She hit send before she had a chance to think about it too much.

It was twenty agonizing minutes later before he replied, through she knew he'd read it as soon as it arrived as she could see it on his screen. She didn't know if his delay in responding was a good sign or bad. His reply was three words long.

_  
For what reason?_

Dammit, of course he had to be difficult, she frowned. Her reply was nearly as short.

_  
I wanted to talk to you._

This time his reply was practically immediate.

_  
About what?_

Pam sighed to herself. Did she take the risk and lay her cards out in an email? It might be easier to be rejected that way, she thought, but knew that House certainly would not approve. That notwithstanding, however, she also knew he deserved more than that. As did she. So she spent a moment thinking on how best to word her reply. She didn't want to tip her hand, but needed him to know she wasn't asking him to meet for some frivolous reason.

_  
Jim, _

_I really need your opinion on something I'd rather not go into via email. I know it probably surprises you, but I figured you would be the best person to talk to._

_Pam_

It was a true enough statement. Certainly no one needed to hear what she had to say more than he did, and his response was the only one that really mattered. At four-thirty he replied.

_  
Pam,_

_Okay, but can we just talk here? I have plans later tonight._

_Jim_

It was less than what she'd hoped he'd say, but at least it was something. At least he'd agreed to meet with her. Maybe it was better they talk here, anyway.

Of course the last half-hour of the day ticked by slower than ever. She silently willed Karen to be the first to leave, but she was naturally one of the last, grabbing her coat and walking out at five-fifteen.

And then it was just her and Jim.

****

Chapter 8

Pam knew everyone else had left – she had meticulously placed a small 'x' next to each name on her phone sheet as they passed her desk on their way out. Still, she hesitated. She wondered if Jim would be the one to make the first move, but of course he wasn't. He sat at his desk, his eyes glued to a web page that Pam thought was either ESPN or Sports Illustrated. His only movement was the constant bobbing of his right knee tapping out a rhythm Pam couldn't hear.

She still had no idea what to say, and swallowed back the rising wave of fear that said she was about to make a horrible mistake. She almost wished House were there to feed lines in her ear, even if most of them would center – she was sure – on calling Jim an idiot. At the thought of that she couldn't help but smile a bit, and told herself to pull it together. For better or worse, things would be settled tonight.

She walked over to his desk, and cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Oh, hey," he said, his head jerking up. "I almost forgot. Give me just a minute, okay?"

"Sure," she said softly. "I'll be in the conference room."

She didn't buy his excuse for a minute, seeing as he was still staring at the same web page he'd had up ten minutes ago. But as she watched him get up from his desk and walk in the direction of the kitchen, she felt the slightest sliver of confidence. Maybe – just maybe – he was as afraid of talking to her as she's been of talking to him.

"Really? You think?"

Pam looked up to see House leaning in the conference room doorway.

"Why are you here?"

"You think I'm going to miss the big show? After all you've put me through?"

"House, no."

"Why not?" He walked in and sat down in a chair at the far end of the conference table. "This is going to make the Ali-Frazier matches look like tea parties." He turned his chair sideways and propped both feet up on the table.

"You can't be here," Pam said, walking over to him. "And thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, you're Ali, Beesly. I do have faith in you. Besides, I thought you wanted me around for moral support and occasional one-liners."

"Get out of my head," Pam grumbled. "I wasn't serious."

"Serious about what?"

Pam spun around to find Jim now standing in the doorway. "Nothing," she replied quickly. "Nothing – I'm just talking to myself." She looked back to see with relief that House was gone.

Jim took a tentative step in. "Is that what you needed my opinion on? Because basically I think talking to yourself is normal unless, you know, you keep getting into arguments with yourself and losing. Then you might want to seek help."

Pam smiled in spite of herself. It was so very Jim to try and break the tension with silliness. To be honest, she really missed that. There was so much she missed about being around him.

"No," she half-laughed, "I've got that one sorted out, but thanks." She pointed to a chair at the table. "Have a seat?"

He nodded and took the chair she'd indicated. It was the one at the opposite end of the table where House had sat. Pam thought perhaps it was too near the door, but she realized the odds of him making a bolt for it were slim, no matter how much he might want to. She was much too wound up to sit, and leaned instead against the metal frame of the glass wall that overlooked the main office area. She let out a deep sigh before she even realized she had.

"That bad, huh?" Jim mused. Their eyes met for just an instant, only to both look away. Despite his attempts at humor, the tension in the room was palpable.

"I don't even know where to start," Pam said, almost more to herself than to him.

"What's wrong?" For a moment he sounded like the old Jim – his concern for her obvious and unguarded. It had the unfortunate effect of making Pam feel like crying. But she knew tears wouldn't do. Not right now. So she took another deep breath.

"What's wrong is that there are things I have needed to say for a very long time, and I've been too much of a coward to do it."

She glanced up at him, and found he'd returned to his look of detachment. "I'm sure there's nothing that needs to be rehashed at this point," he replied carefully, keeping his gaze on his hands that were spread out on the table top in front of him.

"Then you would be wrong." Her assured tone surprised both of them, and Pam felt a rush of adrenaline hit as he stared up at her.

"There are so many things I have done wrong over the last year or so," she continued, "but the thing I regret more than anything was telling you your interest in me wasn't returned, that you'd misinterpreted things. You hadn't misinterpreted anything."

Jim continued to stare at her, almost unblinkingly so, but his expression revealed nothing.

"And I know I should have called you, that I should have done so many things I didn't do, but it's too late for that now. All I can do is say how sorry I am and how much I miss you and that if it's not too late, I'm in love with you, too."

She was aware that she was speaking very fast, but she couldn't help it. She was nervous, and the fact that he had no discernible reaction to her words was not helping.

"I mean," she stumbled, "even if it's too late, it doesn't change the fact I love you. I have for a long time now."

Jim stood up, and for one crazy second she thought that he was going to kiss her. Instead he put his hands into his pockets, his gaze focused solely on the carpet.

"Um, I'm with Karen now."

He said it with all the emotion of someone refusing a magazine subscription offer from a telemarketer over the phone. Pam couldn't believe how unaffected he seemed.

"I know," Pam replied stiffly, "Trust me, she made that clear enough today."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Pam hadn't intended on telling him about that; the reference had just slipped out. But given the way their conversation was going by this point, it hardly seemed to matter. "She told me how you and her and talked about the time you and I kissed, and that it didn't mean anything so she was fine with it."

She paused and crossed her arms over her chest. "Which, you know, it was good to know she was fine with it." She couldn't stop the edge of anger from slipping into her voice. "I'd hate for her to not have been fine with it."

Jim frowned. "She shouldn't have said anything to you."

Pam laughed bitterly. "That's your response?"

"What do you want me to say?" Jim's voice sounded more strained than usual.

"I guess there's nothing to say," Pam retorted, turning away from him. She absolutely was not going to cry. She wanted to walk out of the conference room, but he was standing between her and the door.

She turned back to face him. "Well, I guess that's it then. I'm sorry I bothered you."

She started to walk past him, but Jim stepped in her way. "So that's it?" He sounded seriously pissed off. "Nothing all this time but now that it's apparently become convenient for you to confess your feelings I'm supposed to just drop everything and be grateful?"

"No," Pam sputtered, truly surprised at his outrage.

"But that's what you expected, isn't it, Pam?"

"I didn't expect anything," she snapped back, "except maybe a little courtesy. But I guess I should be used to your rudeness by now. I must have been insane to hope that if you loved me as much as you claimed you did that it wouldn't have disappeared in all of three months."

"Three months?" Jim sounded confused. "It's been eight months since you turned me down."

"Yes, but it only took three to find a replacement, didn't it?"

"At least she wanted to be with me."

"I did too – but you ran away before I could get to that point."

They glared at each other. Pam knew she had hurt him terribly, but she hadn't really believed he would still be this angry. Her admission of being in love with him didn't seem to make any impression at all.

She wanted him to say something – anything – but he remained silent, looking everywhere but at her. She knew then that despite what she so desperately wanted, things were unfixable between them. Maybe if she'd said something earlier – but now he wasn't even listening. There was no second chance.

"Well, that's all I had to say." Her voice sounded distant and tired and she didn't even care to hide it. "I'm sorry I kept you here late."

She walked out of the conference room, gathered her purse and put on her coat. As she turned to walk out she looked back and saw Jim still standing in the same spot she'd left him, his back toward her and his head slightly bowed. There was nothing more she could say or do.

She expected House to be waiting for her when she came home, but he was nowhere to be found as she walked into her apartment. She noticed the writing on her wall had disappeared, and wondered if maybe he was gone for good – if he'd ever really been there at all.

She was hungry but couldn't bear to eat. She wanted to cry but feared she'd never stop if she did. She listlessly walked to her bedroom, determined to never leave her bed again. She was more than a bit annoyed to find him sitting on her bed.

"What do you want now?" She took off her cardigan and threw it toward a corner of her room. She didn't even care if he watched her undress. She just wanted to be left alone.

"It's not over, you know," House began.

Pam put up her hand. "You want to know what I know? I know I don't want to hear it right now. I'm tired and I'm done. Now leave me alone."

"He didn't technically turn you down."

"Just stop it," Pam practically shouted. "I get it – why don't you? He's moved on. You know sometimes patients die, House. Even your patients. Chalk this one up as a loss and move along."

House shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "If that's what you want..."

"It is." She turned away to put her jewelry on top of her dresser.

"Okay then."

Pam turned back to say something else but stopped. House was gone.

****

Chapter 9

_What do you do the day after you've confessed your undying love to someone who was completely unmoved by the gesture?_

Pam considered that very question as her alarm clock went off that following morning. She had done exactly as she planned after House disappeared: namely threw on her nightshirt and crawled into bed. The effects of living through the same work day twice certainly took its toll, for even though she was fast asleep by six-thirty that evening, she had no memory of waking up even once. The glowing green numbers on her clock told her that over twelve hours had passed.

Still, Pam felt drained. Exhausted. Completely unprepared and unwilling to face another day of work. Not today. Not after the things she'd said – and the things he _didn't_ say. She'd worry about all of it later, but not right now. Instead, she turned off her alarm before the snooze button timed out, padded into the kitchen to find her purse and cell phone, and left a message that she was ill and would not be in on both Michael and Dwight's voice mails. Then she went back to bed.

It was after nine-thirty when she woke again, this time due to overwhelming hunger pains. She tried to remember when she'd last eaten. Did she even have lunch yesterday? Walking back to the kitchen the empty tortilla chip bag in the trash reminded her of her last meal.

"Good and healthy there, Pam," she said to herself. "No wonder I feel like crap."

She grabbed a plate and mug, the idea of a simple and quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounding delicious. Matched with a glass of cold milk, she was already feeling better just thinking about it. But as she pulled open the refrigerator door, she did a double take. There was no milk or jam or even the oatmeal bread she liked to keep in there. It took her a minute to realize that most of her fridge had been emptied, and only restocked with some very specific items: sliced ham, sliced cheese, white bread, yellow mustard, carrot sticks in little plastic pre-sorted bags. And where the milk jug had sat the last time she looked sat a twelve-pack of grape soda. She knew immediately who to blame.

She slammed the fridge door. Unfortunately her hunger reminded her that she still needed to eat, so she opened it again and grabbed the ham, cheese and bread. She turned around to take it to the counter, only to find House sitting there.

"Feeling better?"

"No."

He watched her as she went back to get the mustard and a can of grape soda. "You look like hell."

"Thanks." She practically slammed the soda can on the counter. "I'm starting to understand why your original team left you."

"What do you mean?"

Pam glared at House. "How does Cuddy stand you? Or Wilson?"

House gave a slight smile. "I guess I'm just an acquired taste."

"Like Absinthe?"

He made a sound that seemed almost like a short laugh. "I could get to like you, Beesly. Might even appreciate someone like you on my team, except for that one glaring character flaw."

She cocked her brow at him, "And that would be?"

"Your complete lack of follow through." He hung his cane from the edge of the kitchen counter, nudging it to start it swaying back and forth. "You don't run a diagnostic test on a patient and then not examine the results."

"I'm not going to talk about this right now."

"Okay, it's your call. But don't you wonder what he's thinking today? Especially seeing as you didn't even have the nerve to face him today."

"No, I don't." Pam gathered up the leftovers from her sandwich making and practically threw them into the fridge. "Though maybe he'll get a taste of what it was like for me when he just up and disappeared."

"Maybe. Or maybe he'll come in, ready to talk to you, but your absence will give him the time he needs to talk himself out of it and crawl back into his shell again."

"Then he should stay there." She bit into her sandwich, willing herself not to think of Jim. "Can we now quit talking about this?"

She took her plate and grape soda into the living room and clicked on the television. She flipped through all the daytime talk shows, feeling like a perfect candidate for Jerry or Montel or Sally right now.

_So tell me – what did you think when a fictional character showed up and started telling you how to live your life?_

She kept searching for something to watch when she finally stopped on the Game Show Network. It fit her need that it be something mindless, and they also appeared to be in the middle of a Press Your Luck mini-marathon – the original version. Nothing like a little Whammy and Peter Tomarken to take her mind off everything.

"You heard about the guy who cheated on this game, right?" House had joined her on the couch, feet back on the coffee table, head slouched back against the sofa cushions.

Pam didn't take her eyes off the screen. "Yeah, I think so."

"His name was Michael Larson. He spent months tracking a recorded episode on his vcr, and figured out there were only five different light patterns used on the board. He memorized them all and then ended up getting chosen as a contestant."

Pam nodded but added nothing.

"Pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?"

"For a cheater."

"No – see, that's the thing. No one ever said you couldn't do that. It never occurred to anyone that it could be done. The game show producers were sloppy and careless and he used that to his advantage. Damn clever of him, really. All that patience to memorize the combinations and then hope he'd get picked to be on the show."

Pam finished her sandwich and put her plate down.

"It's amazing what can happen if you're willing to be persistent like that," House mused.

Pam sighed. "Go on --"

"What?"

"Just say what you're dying to say."

"I don't have anything to say."

"Right."

"Except that no one gives up on the first try unless they don't really want the big prize to begin with."

"It wasn't exactly my first try."

"You don't seriously count any of your other half-hearted, feeble attempts to get his attention as real tries, do you?"

"Well it seemed pretty clear to me last night that he wasn't interested anyway."

"Bollocks."

She turned her head to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"I highly doubt you would have handled it any better. Actually, as I understand it -- you didn't."

"That's not fair. You can't compare last night to _that_ night. He took me completely by surprise."

"Oh well, right. And he was totally expecting what you said last night."

"It's not the same."

"If you say so."

"Isn't there someone else you should be haunting about now?"

"I am not a ghost, therefore I do not haunt." He nodded slightly. "I may have, however, made some suggestions to someone while they were in a dream state."

It took a minute for his implication to sink in. "You did not," Pam said.

"You would be amazed by the things I can do. Though I should probably mention that in one of his fantasies there's apparently something about you and a storage closet at Chili's restaurant." House shook his head dismissively. "But I guess it takes all kinds."

"Stop it."

"I'm just saying."

"Don't."

"Fine."

They sat in silence as they watched Deloris from Sioux City, Iowa take her final three spins, only to land on the Whammy space and lose all her money on her final turn, leaving Nick from Bellamy, Washington, as the winner. House pounded his cane on the floor, surprising Pam so much she literally jumped.

"Why in God's name would you not pass that last spin when you're already fifteen hundred dollars in the lead?!"

Pam stared at him as if he was crazy. "You just get caught up in the game, I guess," she said carefully.

"Well I certainly hope she wasn't responsible for anyone's pension fund investments." He paused. "Are we going to sit here and watch this all day long?"

"_WE_ aren't doing anything. I am sitting here watching tv and eating ice cream all day. Maybe tomorrow, too."

"I don't think you have that much ice cream."

"You'd be surprised."

"No, I mean it. I finished that half-gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough while you were at work yesterday."

"Whatever." Pam shook her head, feeling defeated. "Why are you still here?"

"Because I care."

She had to admit she hadn't expected that. She quickly turned her head to look at him.

"Ha," he scoffed. "Got ya."

Pam rolled her eyes.

"I just think the make-up sex the two of you are going to have will definitely be worth video-taping. Maybe burn a few DVDs for some eBay sales. Not that it's technically make-up sex, seeing as you two have never, you know --"

"You can stop right there," Pam interrupted.

House was undaunted. "I mean, have you looked at the nose on that guy?" He pointed to his own face. "and I mean really, really looked? And how big his hands are?"

Pam kept her eyes on the television as a new episode of Press Your Luck started. "I'm not listening."

"You know it's true what they say about proportionality."

"No, I don't know."

House leaned in. "Unless God was really pissed off at him, Jim's got --" House waved his hand a good distance out from the zipper of his jeans.

"Okay, that's enough." Pam stood up.

"I'm trying to be encouraging!"

"Well, you're not." Pam crossed her arms over her chest, running her right hand over her face. "How can I say this?"

"I'm sure you'll manage."

"I have no idea how you got here or why you'd want to help me. And despite the fact things are worse than before you arrived, I appreciate you tried to help." She paced in front of the television. "But really, I'm done. I don't need your help anymore. Go save someone else's life."

House tilted his head and squinted at her for a very long moment.

"You know what?" He tapped his cane a few times on the floor and pulled himself up off the couch. "You're right. I am done here."

Pam was actually startled that he was agreeing with her. "Oh well, like I said, I know you were trying to help."

"The problem is that I was too focused on treating one patient when in fact there are two," he said, not paying attention to what she was saying. "And you can't hope to fix one unless you also fix the other. I can't believe I didn't see that before."

He shot her a comical leer. "I blame you for distracting me." He turned away and started walking towards her kitchen.

"Wait – what are you talking about?"

House gave her a dismissive wave. "Don't worry about it. You can thank me later."

She watched him limp away, his stride still somehow assured, but she didn't follow him. She knew he'd be gone long before she got there.

****

Chapter 10

Pam was true to her word. She spent the afternoon flipping between game shows and old movies, indulging in both ice cream and chocolate. Even so, it didn't distract her half as much as she hoped it would. She still found her mind wandering to yesterday, reliving her moments with Jim, hearing him say "I'm with Karen" like a skipping record. It was picking at a still open wound she knew, but she just couldn't stop.

As the day wore on she also wondered where House had gone. She'd never admit it to him of course, but she enjoyed his company – most of the time. She wasn't certain if she'd even see him again, but deep down she kind of hoped she would.

Pam also worried over House's earlier comments about stepping into people's dreams. It didn't take any effort to guess who he was referring to. The real question was: what if he was serious? Could he really do that? And more importantly, did he?

Given his sudden appearance in her life, she certainly couldn't rule it out. He'd already pulled more than one rabbit out of his hat so far. How much harder could it be to walk into someone's dream?

By evening Pam was feeling restless. She was tired of television, sick of sweets, and stuck on what she should do next. She still was concerned over what House might be up to, and thought it would be convenient if she could summon him like a genie with just a snap of her fingers, or perhaps by reciting a magic word.

She laughed at her silliness but still attempted to figure out what sort of magic word a man like House would be conjured up with, but the only things that seemed appropriate were sexual innuendos. She did consider saying Betelgeuse three times fast, but figured he would find that too cliched. She snapped her fingers as if that would work, and when it didn't (of course) she decided what she really needed was to get out of her apartment. She jumped into the shower and was in her car by seven.

Being January, it was clear and cold, and the sun had set over two hours ago. Pam found the chill invigorating. She rolled down her driver's side window and directed the hot air of the heater to her feet. She didn't know where she was heading, but it felt liberating to just be out.

She zipped around Interstate 81, letting the wind whip her hair around her face and redden her cheeks. She followed it north well passed Dickson City, going as far as the exit for Lackawanna State Park. Then Pam headed back on smaller roads until she found herself on Route 6 heading south back toward Scranton. She got off the highway near Dunmore, winding her way through the neighborhoods she knew as a child, amused at the number of homes that still had their Christmas decorations up. The multicolored lights cheered her, though, and she decided to take the long way back to her apartment, looking out for more festive displays.

She would always swear that it was entirely accidental, but in her maze of travel she found herself at the intersection that would take her to Jim's apartment. She hesitated only a moment, then turned left toward where she knew he lived. She had no intention of stopping; she absolutely knew she wouldn't, but she felt compelled to drive past.

It wasn't the first time she'd been down this particular road, and if she was being honest it was a path she'd taken probably at least once a week since he'd returned. She couldn't help it. Early morning, late at night, random weekend afternoons – if she was nearby she worked his street into her route. It was a compulsion she would be horribly embarrassed to admit to anyone, but she did it anyway. She found a strange satisfaction in seeing his car in the driveway of his condo-styled two story townhouse. She imagined which windows belonged to his living room, which ones might be to his bedroom, all based on whatever lights happened to be on.

One time she drove past moments after he'd just arrived home. She watched his familiar gait take him up the porch steps and pull the mail out of the box next to the front door. He never turned around so he couldn't have seen her, but she almost wished he would have. Maybe if he had seen everything so much sooner – saw how she felt, saw what she wanted from him. Maybe if he had seen it before it became too late.

She automatically slowed as she recognized the houses of his neighbors. When she reached his, all she saw was an empty drive and darkened windows. _Of course he's not home,_ she thought bitterly. _It's Friday night. He's out with her._ She couldn't even bear to think, much less say, that name. _Going to dinner or a movie or sitting around laughing over a what a fool I am._

She was ready to go home, but the masochist in her pushed for one more stop. She usually ignored the urge – there was only so much she could bear, after all. But tonight she seemed determined to punish herself.

As the Dunder Mifflin receptionist she had easy access to everyone's home address. So she knew exactly where Karen lived. A couple of blocks and a turn to the right, and there it was. And parked in front of Karen's apartment building was a very familiar silver Saab.

She knew she should have expected it, she absolutely knew that. But it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, or the way her throat felt like it was closing up. She was grateful for the open window as she turned her car for home, for the cold wind blew the tears off her cheeks and made her skin feel as numb as her heart.

Pam felt completely worn out and deflated as she pulled back into her apartment complex, and as soon as she could headed straight back to the cocoon of her bedroom. There she slept a fitful, dreamless sleep, only to wake up for good well before dawn. She slipped an oversized old sweatshirt on top of her cotton nightdress, slipped her feet into her ratty fuzzy slippers and padded slowly to the kitchen. If she couldn't sleep at least she could make some hot tea to warm up.

She turned on the small lamp that sat on the table near the stuffed chair House had seemed to favor, and brought her steaming mug of English Breakfast with her as she curled up in the chair. She let the warmth of the cup rest between her two hands. She took slow, tentative sips until her insides were feeling as warm as her hands. When she finally finished it, she placed it on the table next to the lamp, and rested her head back along the cushions of the chair.

She started to feel slightly sleepy again and had practically dozed off where she was when she heard a sound. It was so quiet and tentative she thought she'd imagined it. But then it happened again. With the light of day only barely breaking the horizon, someone was at Pam's front door.

****

Chapter 11

Jim could not remember ever feeling so sick to his stomach at the thought of going into work. It wasn't like the case of nerves he had when he tried to start his life over in Stamford, or the anxiety of walking back through the doors of the Scranton branch months later. It wasn't even that dead feeling that enveloped him when Pam was on the path to marrying Roy and all he could do was sit and watch it play out. Not this was worse than all of those feelings put together. This was true and utter fear.

Fear that he'd misinterpreted what Pam had said last night (it had happened before), and fear he understood every word she said. He had gone straight home after her declaration, and avoided answering the phone the three or six times (he'd lost count) Karen had tried to call him last night. He purposely didn't answer his phone or his email that morning because he didn't want her to have a chance to ask him to drive her into work. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, even though they weren't his friends at the moment either.

He'd had a few beers after coming home from work – getting drunk seemed like the only way he might get his mind to slow down. But that didn't work. Instead it made him tired and feeling even more vulnerable. He was confused by what it all meant, and angry at Pam for being quiet all this time, even as part of him knew exactly why she had been. Hadn't he been guilty of the same thing? He was angry with himself for the way his hands had starting shaking at her confession. He'd held them forcefully down on the conference table so she couldn't see how much she'd affected him. It wasn't fair – all this time trying to live with his new choices and in less than five minutes she had him right back in the palm of her hand. Not as far as she knew at least, he comforted himself. He was at least proud of himself for keeping it together in front of her.

But now – well into his third beer – he was a complete and total mess. If she had walked through through the door at that moment he knew he'd have offered her everything and asked for her forgiveness. But she wasn't there, and soon Jim gave up his troubled thoughts for sleep.

But he found no peace there either. Sleep brought on the strangest of dreams. One right after another, all floating around the same topic: Pam. He was back in the conference room, her words as clear as they had been just hours ago. He wanted to tell her to stop talking. He wanted to kiss her. But just when he managed to get the words out, they were suddenly out in the parking lot and he was telling her he was in love with her, and she was saying she couldn't.

It was Pam was walking away this time, even as he shouted at her that she just told him she loved him, that she couldn't change her mind back now. But Pam kept fading into the background, and he could hear Karen's voice calling him instead. He turned to respond to Karen and was surprised to find a tall, serious-looking man standing behind him.

"You know if you screw things up this time, you've only yourself to blame," the grey-haired man told him. Then the stranger turned and shuffled off into the darkness, the sound of his cane hitting the ground with each step.

Jim tried to follow in the direction Pam went, but kept finding himself trapped in crowds of people he didn't know. With the sound of Karen's voice still calling him, it felt like being trapped in a never ending maze. When he woke up, he breathing was quick and shallow and he was covered in a cold sweat. It didn't take a psychoanalyst to figure out what it all meant, but he wasn't sure if he had the strength to do anything about it anymore.

Such was his state of mind driving into work that Friday morning. He knew he couldn't just dismiss Pam's words - he wouldn't have been able to do that if he'd wanted to – but at the same time he couldn't let himself put much faith in them. After everything, he needed so much more than words before he risked tipping his life upside down one more time. But if she was being serious...

"Oh, she's entirely serious."

A gravelly voice snapped Jim out of his reverie as he stood at the pump filling up his Saab. The gas station stop had been just another way to avoid going into work – he could barely fit ten dollars worth into the tank. Jim looked around to see where the voice was coming from. It was spooky that someone else's conversation should mimic his own thoughts. Then he saw who had spoken.

A tall, grey haired man was at the pump on the opposite side of the island putting high octane into his Honda Repsol motorcycle. Jim did a double take as he recognized him as the man from his dream.

"I mean, I suppose she could have handled it better," the man continued. "But you're hardly one to talk."

"I'm sorry?" Jim stumbled over the simple words, looking around momentarily. "Are you talking to me?"

The man's brow crinkled and Jim was sure he was being smirked at. "No, I'm talking to your car – turns out it has as shitty a love life as you do."

Jim was dumbfounded. He considered the idea that someone was playing a trick on him and automatically glanced around for the cameras. There weren't any.

"Do I know you?"

"You would if you spent any time watching quality television, but that's neither here nor there. Let's just say I've been spending a lot of time lately with your girl."

Jim frowned, further confused. "Karen?"

"Oh, hell no," he scowled. "Not her. The other one. The one you really want." He emphasized the next two words. "Your Girl?"

Jim watched as the guy took the nozzle from the gas tank of his motorcycle and hung it back up.

"Come on," the man goaded Jim. "Are you really going to make me say her name like you have absolutely no idea who I could possibly be talking about?"

"I know who you mean," Jim said slowly, looking around once more to see if people were watching them.

"Then you should know she meant every word she said yesterday. You, above all, should know what it cost her."

Jim watched at the man clipped his cane to his bike, then fished out what looked to be a pack of mints from his pocket. As he opened the bottle Jim saw they were pills, not mints. The guy swallowed down a few and got on his bike.

"You're really going to have to work hard to screw this chance up," he said loudly over his revving engine. Then he was gone.

Jim stood stock still, trying to make sense of what had just occurred, but he couldn't do it. He finished his fuel purchase and got back into his car. Who was that guy? How did he know Pam?

He felt a little agitated that Pam must have confided in this stranger. At the very least he knew he finally had something he could use to talk to her about. But as he pulled into the Dunder Mifflin lot the fear was back full force. He had no idea how he was going to manage to look at her and remain unphased, much less talk to her.

He rehearsed his entrance over and over in his mind as the elevator took him to the second floor. He concentrated on deep breaths as he headed down the hallway, his heart beating double time to his footsteps. He would just walk in, he told himself. Walk in, hang up his coat, and say "Good morning, Pam," before sitting down at his desk. He thought he should look at her as he said it, to get a feel for how she was going to act, but he doubted he'd have quite that much courage.

But for all his anxiety and planning, he opened the door to Dunder Mifflin and saw that the reception desk sat empty. The computer monitor was still off, and her puffy pink-cream coat didn't hang from the peg it usually occupied. Jim felt oddly disappointed. He glanced up at the clock, but he already knew it was well past her usual arrival time. As he slumped into his chair, he could barely believe what he knew must be true: she was missing because of him.

Because she couldn't bear to face him. He rubbed his chin ruefully. He knew exactly what she must be feeling, and in spite of his confusion his heart went out to her. He didn't expect her not to come in today; Pam was always there. How much must his behavior toward her have hurt for her not to even come into work. Jim felt guilty, even as he knew his reaction last night was the only one he could have given.

He didn't have to look far to find guilt assaulting him from another angle. Karen was already at her desk, but he knew she was watching him. Though he was just as estranged from Pam as he ever had been, he somehow felt like he had cheated on Karen. And deep down he knew why he felt that way. Deep down he knew where this was all leading, even if he couldn't admit it just yet.

An email announced its arrival, and for a moment he expected it to be from Pam. Some explanation, perhaps, of why she wasn't there. Of perhaps where he could find her.

It was, of course, a message from Karen. _Meet me in the kitchen?_ He glanced over at her, and found her already looking to him for a reply. He nodded once. He couldn't ignore her forever. He was about to stand up when Dwight addressed him.

"Where's Pam?"

"How should I know?" Jim responded, a bit more defensively than he meant to. Of course Dwight immediately picked up on it.

"You look suspicious. What do you know?"

Jim sighed. "I honestly don't know where she is. Maybe she called Michael."

"She left voice mails for both Michael and me," Dwight informed him smugly. "She said she was sick."

Jim slapped his hand on his desk. "There you have it then." He was about to stand up when Dwight held up his hand to stop him.

"You don't expect me to believe she's really sick, do you?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Jim, do you know how many people call off on Fridays?"

Jim smiled, the first real smile of the morning. "Actually, Dwight, I do. An average of fourteen percent of the American work force calls off on any given Friday."

Dwight's eyes narrowed. "Fourteen percent? Where do you get your facts?"

"As Assistant Regional Manager, it's my job to know these things," Jim replied, finally standing up. "And if you bothered to look you'd already know that more people call off on Wednesdays than Fridays." Jim walked toward the kitchen with the sound of Dwight furiously typing at his keyboard in the background.

Whatever Jim was expecting when he walked into the kitchen, it was certainly not a supportive girlfriend. He'd been avoiding her since yesterday afternoon, and he'd been expecting to have to explain his behavior. He seemed to have to do a lot of explaining around Karen lately. The problem was that he never knew what to tell her, and she never seemed satisfied with what he did say.

But today was different. Karen said nothing about the unreturned phone calls, no quizzing on how he'd spent his night. Instead she commented on how tired he looked, and she asked what she could do to make things a little easier for him. She offered to take him to lunch, and to make dinner at her place so they could both relax on a Friday night for a change. She was being so accommodating and unquestioningly supportive that it was easy to agree to it all.

The morning went by in a blur for Jim as he focused his energies on anything that would put Pam out of his mind. In the three hours between arriving and going to lunch he sold as much paper as the old Jim Halpert would have sold in a week. He didn't dwell on the complete lack of satisfaction he felt in accomplishing so much. It was just a way to pass the time.

At lunch, Karen let him choose the place, and seemed intent on making him smile. With the tension absent that had been between them at times since relocation to Scranton, Jim was reminded why he'd felt attracted to her in the first place. When she reached for his hand as they walked back into the Dunder Mifflin building, he thought that maybe it would just be easier to forget yesterday ever happened. Karen wasn't complicated to him. He knew exactly what was expected from him to keep her happy. And that had to be worth something, right?

For the rest of the afternoon Jim kept coming back to that thought. How much easier it would be to just keep on his current path. And his concern for Pam's absence twisted into a belief that maybe she didn't want to face him because she knew she made a mistake. Maybe if he'd opened himself up to her she'd already be backpedaling. When had Pam ever really followed through with anything? By the time he was leaving for the day, he had succeeded in building back up his wall of defense against one Pamela Beesly.

A last minute customer call caused Jim to be last person left in the office. Even Karen had left, sticking a Post-It note on his desk as she walked out, letting him know what time to come over.

He stuck her note in his pocket, grabbed his coat and messenger bag, and headed out toward the elevator. He was lost in thought as to what to bring to dinner when he stepped into the car, and didn't even notice he was no longer alone.

"You, Jim Halpert, are quite a piece of work."

Jim jumped in surprise, finally noticing that the mysterious stranger was back.

"And I thought Beesly was a challenge," he continued.

"What do you want from me?" Jim was more annoyed than frightened by the man's reappearance.

"The more important question is 'What Do You Want?'"

"I want to be left alone," Jim muttered. He wondered why the elevator hadn't started moving yet. He pressed the ground floor button twice.

"You're doing an outstanding job of it if that's true."

Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the closed doors in front of him. He gave no response.

The man was not so easily deterred. "So just how long do you think this little charade of yours can last?"

Jim ignored him.

"A few more months? A year? Or maybe you're so accomplished at deluding yourself that you'll wind up married to the wrong woman and spend the rest of your life blaming Pam."

Jim spun around angrily. "Who are you? And what does any of this have to do with you?"

"Ah, so I've finally hit a nerve."

"I'm going to call the police and report you for harassment," Jim replied, once again hitting the ground floor button. "And why isn't this elevator moving?"

"Kinda like your life, isn't it?" The man took a step towards Jim, leaning in front of him and pressing the tip of his cane against the elevator button. This time there was an audible whine and a slight bump, both a clear indication that the elevator had begun to descend.

Jim leaned against the wall, but didn't look at the man. "What does that even mean?"

"Say there's this guy," the stranger said, ignoring Jim's question. "Say there's this guy, and he got everything he's ever wanted, but just doesn't see it."

Jim frowned.

"All he sees is all the things that have gone wrong in his life, and how people he counted on have hurt and abused him, and he decides the best thing he could do is to walk away from it all. To erase it from his mind and start fresh. A complete brain wipe – as if none of it ever existed."

Jim thought this was without a doubt the slowest elevator ride ever.

"But what if it didn't quite take? What if despite his new life, he felt incomplete. He knew he was missing a part of himself, but he couldn't quite figure out what that part was. What would he do then?"

The doors finally opened, much to Jim's relief. Hitching the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, he shot a glance back at the man before walking out. "I think you've been watching too many Jim Carey movies," Jim said.

Jim pushed through the glass lobby doors as hard as he could. He couldn't get away from the stranger fast enough in his opinion. But clearly the stranger wasn't done with him as was already leaning against Jim's silver car as Jim walked over. Now Jim really was starting to get spooked.

Jim looked back at the lobby doors and then at the man. "How did you...?"

"If you were supposed to get over her, don't you think you'd have done it by now?"

Jim unlocked his car, opened the driver's door and threw his bag onto the front passenger seat. "I am over her. In case you didn't notice."

"Oh, right," the man stood straight up, lightly striking his cane against the side of Jim's car. "That's why you're dreaming about her. That's why you don't stop thinking about her. Those are some wicked clear signs of being over her."

Jim slid into his car and attempted to shut the door, but the man's cane stopped it from completely closing.

"You can't run forever," the man said as he finally stepped back from the car.

Jim slammed the door shut and put it into drive so fast the transmission complained nosily. "Yeah, just watch me," he mumbled as he pulled away.

****

Chapter 12

Pam was so befuddled by the fact someone was at her door so early that she didn't even think to check the peephole to see who it was. So she was more than a little thrown when she found herself face-to-face with a slightly disheveled Jim Halpert.

"What are you doing here?" She sputtered.

"Are you okay?" He asked at the same time.

"What?" They said in unison.

Pam ran a nervous hand over her hair, aware of her own less than flattering attire. "Why are you here?" She asked, positively sure she was dreaming.

"What do you mean?" Jim replied. "Your message."

"What message?"

Jim fished his cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans. "You left a message less than a half-hour ago. You said it was really important and needed me to come right over."

Pam shook her head. "No, I didn't."

Jim frowned and flipped open his phone. "Pam, I have the message right here. Why are you denying it?"

"You might be wondering why I called you both here," Gregory House said. Pam spun around and saw the now-familiar doctor standing in her living room.

"Well invite him in before he catches pneumonia out there," House instructed, motioning for Jim to enter. "Not that he could, but at the very least your wasting perfectly good baseboard heating."

Pam glanced up only briefly at Jim as she stepped back from the threshold so he could enter. She anxiously tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, wishing that she at least had her robe on. It wasn't about showing skin; you could barely see anything above her knees. It was more how unattractive she felt in her old comfortable clothes. She was also rapidly becoming irritated at House as the realization that he orchestrated Jim's arrival sunk in.

Jim's anger was immediate upon seeing the man who'd been haunting him. What was he doing at Pam's apartment this early in the morning? Was there something going on between her and him? Then where did that leave him? And why then did she say the things she said? He glanced between Pam and the man, looking for answers he wasn't sure he wanted.

"What is going on?" Jim asked, still standing in the door frame. "Pam, who is this guy?"

"You-you don't recognize him?" Pam asked her eyes more on the floor than on his face.

"No... should I?"

Pam bit her lip. "It's kinda hard to explain then."

"Oh for chrissake, Halpert, just get in here and shut the door, man." House paced the small length of available living room floor, his limp seemingly more noticeable more than ever. "I swear to God I've never met anyone more determined to fuck up every chance of happiness he has, and that includes yours truly." He stopped, leaned on his cane while he fished out the vicodin bottle from his pocket. He glared at Jim as he swallowed down two. Jim finally stepped into the apartment, pushing the door behind him with a heavy thud and leaning back against it, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"And to answer the question I know is burning in the back of your mind," House continued, gesturing in Pam's direction. "No, I'm not sleeping with your girlfriend here." He leaned against the wall that once served as his white board. "Not that it wouldn't have been worth the try."

"House!" Pam didn't like be talked about as if she wasn't standing right there.

"House?" Jim asked.

"Yes. House." He confirmed. "Dr. Gregory House, Head of the Department of Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. I'm here to save your life."

Jim did not look convinced. If anything he was growing more and more lost in this conversation. "There's nothing wrong with me."

House practically snorted. "That is probably the best joke I've heard in ages. Now you might as well have a seat and get comfortable. You too, Beesly."

Pam walked toward the hallway. "I think I would like to get dressed first."

House stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, then proceeded to turn her back around. "Not necessary. Trust me, you're already a vision."

Pam scowled up at him. "Trust me, I know."

He gently pushed her toward the couch. "Seriously, just sit down, okay?" As Pam acquiesced, he pointed at Jim. "You too, Lanky. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Jim knew he did not want to be part of anything that included this guy. He disliked the man intensely, even as he was hard pressed to say why beyond his ability to show up at odd times and weird places. There was something just not right. Still, whenever anything involved Pam, Jim couldn't completely turn away. He looked over at her, and despite her clear discomfort over her appearance, he couldn't help but think how lovely she was. He reluctantly pulled away from the door and sat down on the couch, a respectable distance away from Pam.

"Thank you," House said mockingly. "Now was that really so hard?"

"House, what do you want?" Pam asked snappishly. "I didn't send Jim a message asking him to come over here."

House dragged the armchair across the floor until it sat across from the sofa, not beside it. He flopped himself into it, putting his injured leg up on the coffee table before replying. "Of course you didn't," House agreed. "Because that's exactly the thing you should have done." He nodded slightly. "No need to thank me."

"That was you?" Jim shook his head and then leaned back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling. No one said a word for a minute, and then Jim slapped his hands against the tops of his thighs and began to stand. "Okay, seeing as you don't really need me here, I'm going to go back home."

"Of course you're needed here," House replied. "I wouldn't have wasted good impersonation skills if I didn't need you here."

"I don't give a damn about what you need," Jim retorted, now standing.

House sighed dramatically and pointed his cane at Pam. "Are you sure this is really the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?" He dropped his leg from the table and leaned forward. "Because he's really a bit of a dick, isn't he?"

Maybe it was due to the lack of sleep or the sheer ridiculousness of it all, but Pam started to giggle.

"Hey!" Jim looked over at Pam.

She held up one hand, the other covering her mouth. "Sorry." She giggled again. "I'm not laughing at that."

"Really?" Jim cocked his eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Really." She giggled a little again. She shook her head, trying to gain some semblance of control. "This is insane."

"Now there's something we agree on," Jim replied sardonically.

"Okay, can we get back to me?" House interrupted. "I mean, there are a lot more worthwhile things I could be doing, most of them involving tequila and scantily clad Hooters waitresses."

Then House stood up suddenly, leaning on his cane. "Why is it," he asked slowly, "That you both go to such extremes to avoid being alone together?"

"We don't," Pam replied quickly.

"Oh no?" House rolled his eyes. "So you really were sick with Ebola yesterday. That's why you didn't go into work. And you," he added, looking at Jim. "Are you going to deny it too?"

Jim said nothing, but continued to stand in front of the sofa.

House limped around the chair, pausing to lean against the back of it. "Here's what perplexes me, and I'm not a man easily perplexed. If you want to be with him," he pointed his cane from Pam to Jim, "and you want to be with her," he reversed his cane's motion, "then why aren't you?"

The resulting silence was deafening.

"Well?" House prodded.

Jim was fed up with the interrogation and headed toward the door. "I don't need to stay here for this."

House made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Oh, I'm sorry – I'm afraid you do."

Jim put his hand on the doorknob of the front door but it wouldn't turn. He attempted to release the lock no no avail.

"Nope, that's not going to work," House mused. "Besides, even if it did your transportation is currently unavailable."

Jim stepped quickly over to the front window and pushed the curtain aside. "Where's my car?" He turned to face House. "Where is it?"

"Relax, it's fine." House shrugged. "But when was the last time you had it professionally cleaned?"

"Pam..." Jim said her name with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and a request for assistance.

Pam stood up. "House, can I talk to you? In private?"

House threw up his hands. "Whatever." He started to follow her toward the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look back at Jim. "Don't go anywhere," he admonished, then smirked. "Oh, that's right. You can't."

Pam was standing in front of the refrigerator, head rested against it, when House walked in.

"This has got to stop." She said firmly, not moving from her position. "Now."

"Why? It's all going so swimmingly."

"No." She said severely, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. "This isn't what I want."

House frowned. "What do you mean? Of course this is what you want."

"Not like this."

"Like what?"

"Like this! Like you tricking him into showing up at my door, as if that's all that was needed to fix everything." She sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, it isn't working."

"It will, it will," he nodded, mostly to himself. "You'll see."

She pointed over House's shoulder. "All I see is Jim getting angrier by the minute, and I can't blame him."

"It's all part of the process--"

"No," she interrupted, "it's not."

"Pam, I know what's wrong here. I know how to fix it."

"Dr. House," Pam pleaded. "I know how good you are at what you do. I won't deny that. But this isn't some mystery illness we're dealing with. You can't just figure out what's wrong and apply the antidote and we're all better."

"Yes, I can," House disagreed. "I think this is an illness of sorts, and I know how to treat it."

"I don't want you to."

House did a double take. "Of course you want me to."

She shook her head. "Not like this. It won't work like this. You may know so much more than I ever will, but I know Jim. I know Jim better than you ever could, and this is not going to help anything."

House rubbed his lips with his fingers and leaned back against the counter, clearly thinking over what she had said. "So how do you think it will work?" He finally asked.

They stared at each other. "I think," she said softly, "That I have to do this on my own."

House twirled his cane between his fingers, staring at the tiled floor as he gave it more thought.

"Okay," he said suddenly, ceasing his cane twirling and thumping it on the ground. "Maybe you're right." He nodded again. "We can try it your way."

"What does that mean?" Pam didn't believe he'd back down quite so quickly.

"It means," House said as he stood upright. "That I am outta here."

"That's it?"

"That's it. It's your life, Beesly. Screw it up as you see fit." House scratched his brow. "But I really did send his car out for detailing so he'll still be stuck here for at least another hour. The guys get totally backed up with work on Saturdays."

And then Dr. Gregory House vanished before her eyes.

****

Chapter 13

Pam took a deep breath, her stomach in knots. She dreaded going back into the living room to face Jim. What was she going to say? How could she possibly explain any of this, when she herself still didn't quite believe it.

It took a moment or two, but Pam finally willed herself back to where Jim was. As she stood in the archway to the living room, she saw that he wasn't at the window any longer, but instead stood at her bookcase, his back toward her.

She cleared her throat to get his attention, but he didn't move.

"I'm really so sorry about this morning," she began.

Jim turned around, a blue box in his hands. "It has been driving me crazy trying to figure out who that guy was. I thought I knew him but I couldn't remember why or how." He lifted up the box to more clearly show Pam. "But this can't possibly be right."

Jim was holding the season one boxed set for House, MD. The look on his face made it clear he was looking for some answer from Pam, but she didn't even know where to begin.

"So you know the guy who stars in this show, huh?" Jim finally said, putting the dvd set back on the shelf. Pam thought he sounded strangely distant.

"No," she said, moving more into the room. "I don't know any of the actors from that show."

"So the guy standing in your kitchen isn't the guy who plays House?" Jim put his hands into his pockets. "You were calling him House, or didn't I hear you right?"

Pam crossed her arms defensively. This was going to be so impossible. "He's not the actor," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry?" Jim took one step closer to her. "I couldn't hear what you said."

"I said he's not the actor who plays House," she repeated, this time clearly and impressively without wavering. "He _is_ House."

Jim's eyebrows drew together. "What?"

"He is the actual House," she said again. "And he's not in the kitchen."

"Where did he go?"

"He left. I asked him to leave."

"When?"

"Like five minutes ago."

"How? Do you have a back door?"

"No, he just..." Pam paused. "Why does it even matter where he is?"

"I just want to know what else he's going to pull next," Jim said, the irritation he felt earlier returning. "I mean, he's _your_ friend and you saw fit to confide in him about everything."

"It's not like that," Pam protested.

"Then tell me, Pam," Jim snapped back. "What is it like? What's going on with you and him and why are you dragging me into it?"

Pam was getting a headache. She sat down in the chair House had been in and rubbed her hands over her face. "You won't believe me even if do tell you."

It was not quite the reaction Jim was expecting, and peered at her closely. She looked exhausted, and for a moment he was willing to give her a chance to explain all of this. He certainly wanted her to be able to. He sat down on the edge of the couch. "Try me," he said quietly.

Pam didn't respond initially. She was too wound up with how she could possibly explain it all without bringing it all back to the fact that she was in love with him. After telling him that on Thursday, she had no illusions that telling him again was going to change anything. But the real story was so fantastic, so surreal, that she couldn't make up a story that he would buy. There was no other way – she was going to have to tell him the truth, and all of it.

"You know about fairy godmothers, right?" She said at last. She almost laughed at the look he gave her, knowing this was the sane part of the conversation.

"Like in Cinderella? Yeah," he said, clearly not sure where she was going with it.

"Do you think it's possible for things to happen that you simply can't rationally explain? Like paranormal stuff?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess. I don't really think too much about that sort of stuff. Anything's possible, I suppose." He watched Pam as she continued to fidget nervously in her chair. "What is this all about, Pam?"

"Dr. House is my fairy godmother," Pam spit out quickly. "Well, godfather I suppose."

Jim did not know how to respond to her statement, so he kept quiet, hoping she'd start talking sense soon.

"I came home from work on Thursday and was feeling sorry for myself and fell asleep watching House on my vcr and when I woke up he – Dr. House – was standing in my living room." She didn't look up at Jim, her face already flushing with anxiety.

"O-kay," Jim said under his breath.

She looked up at him. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but I swear it really happened."

Were it anyone else on the planet, Jim would be convinced he was being lied to. But there was something in her expression, something about the fact that this was Pam telling him this, that made him want to believe her.

"Okay," he nodded. "Let's assume what you're saying is the truth. Why did he show up?"

Pam bit her lip. This was the part she dreaded more than admitting television show characters were appearing to her as visions. "He said he was tired of watching me make a mess of my life and wanted me to change."

"Change how?"

"To stop hiding."

"Hiding from what?"

She was stalling and she knew it. "Hiding from you." She couldn't help but glance at him when she said it, and saw the surprise on his face. "He said I needed to tell you how I felt."

"Ah," was all Jim replied.

"Yeah, and we both know how that turned out. I think he was convinced he knew how you felt and that's why he tricked you into coming over here. I'm really sorry he dragged you into all of this. I should have known better."

"So a television doctor – and imaginary character - told you that if you told me how you really felt," Jim said, trying to understand what she was saying, "Your life would get better."

"And yours too," she added, painfully aware of how incredible it sounded even to her own ears.

Jim picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his jeans, his hands rubbing against his thighs. "Well, I'm not sure I know what to say about all of this, if in fact you are telling me the truth – or what you believe is your version of the truth."

Pam was piqued by his comment. She knew it was an unbelievable story, but deep down she thought he'd believe her. "Why would I make all of this up? I mean – Jim, you saw him too!"

"I saw a guy, yes, who you now say is gone," Jim admitted. He felt slightly guilty as the images of House in his dreams and the encounters he'd had the day before went unconfessed. "But he looked real to me."

"Well he _was_ real," Pam insisted. "I-I can't explain it, but it's the truth."

"Okay, well, I don't know what to believe, but I'm not sure it even matters what I believe," Jim said, standing up. "I really think I need to get going."

Pam was crushed. Even if he didn't believe her story, she couldn't believe how he'd glossed over her feelings again. He'd at least always been her friend before – before everything. She'd wanted to believe that House was right, that she still had a chance with Jim, but maybe things really couldn't be fixed between them.

She stood up, determined not to let him know how much he was hurting her.

"Well, that's fine," she said. "I think I need to go get some more sleep." She stood up. "You don't need me to escort you out, right?"

Jim tilted his head. "Um, the door's right there, so nope." He tried to make it sound jovial, but it came out brusque instead.

"Okay," she said, unable to stop herself from wringing her hands. She turned and walked out before he had to chance to walk out on her.

As soon as Pam closed her bedroom door, all she wanted to do was fling herself on her bed and have a full blown temper tantrum. She couldn't believe how it was even possible to make the situation between herself and Jim any worse than it was, but once again she was wrong. Why did she always have to be wrong about everything??

As much as she wanted to, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Still, she laid down on her back on her bed, wondering what in the world she was going to do now. She didn't see how working at Dunder Mifflin was going to be tenable any longer, not after this. She thought she might just have to make a complete break from everything.

Her musings didn't continue for much more than ten minutes when she realized she was seriously hungry. She left her bed, threw on some sweat pants and went to the kitchen, but she was so behind in grocery shopping that there was nothing there that even appealed to her. She brewed another mug of tea and buttered a piece of plain bread, folding it in half. She wandered with it into the living room, but memories of this morning were too painful to stay there. She was going to head back to her bedroom when she decided instead to go onto the porch. Even though it was a cold day, she thought the change could only do her good.

She nearly dropped her mug when she opened her door to find Jim sitting on her porch steps. Her audible gasp made him turn around.

"Oh, hey," he said bemusedly. He pointed toward the parking lot, where a silver Saab was still not parked. "I thought about reporting it as stolen, but then I realized I'd have to describe the guy who took it."

Pam couldn't help but smile. She closed the door behind her and tentatively sat down on the step next to him. "Yeah, sorry about that," she said "He said it would be back. Apparently he sent it to be detailed."

"Right."

Pam cautiously glanced over at him, and saw his cheeks and nose were red from sitting out in the cold. "Do you want to go back inside? You look like you're freezing."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

"Oh." Pam's brief hope that maybe they could finally talk disappeared again. She sat staring into her steaming tea.

They sat quietly on the steps, together yet apart. Neighbors walked by, cars drove past, but neither of them seemed to want to break the silence. Or maybe they didn't know how to. Sitting so close to him made Pam aware all over again of just how much she missed him.

"I'm sorry I sprung all of that on you Thursday," she heard herself say.

Jim didn't move, didn't look at her. It was like he hadn't heard her at all.

"I mean, I meant it. All of it. But I shouldn't have done it like that."

Again Jim's only answer was no answer at all. Pam couldn't believe he was just ignoring her words.

"Don't you have anything to say?" She pushed.

Jim looked down at his hands, clasped together between his knees. Then he looked up again to the horizon. "I broke up with Karen last night."

"Oh." She wondered if she had the ability to respond to anything with something other than monosyllabic sounds.

Jim nodded, a soft chuckle escaping. "Yeah. Oh."

"I'm --" Pam paused. Was what? Sorry? Even she didn't buy that. "Are you okay?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know what I am anymore," he said. "But I know she deserved better than me."

"That's not true."

"No, it is." Jim sighed. "You have no idea."

"No, I probably don't. But I know you. She might deserve different, but she's going to be hard pressed to find someone better."

She saw Jim smirk slightly, as he dipped his head down to rest on his hands. "If you say so," he mumbled.

"I do say so."

They returned to their previous silence, but somehow it felt different, less awkward. She didn't want to pry, but she couldn't help but wonder what had happened with Karen. Was her confession responsible for any of it? He didn't seem to act like it, but the timing was entirely too coincidental. She thought about how sad she was when she saw his car at Karen's Friday night. Little did she know then why he was really there.

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't realize Jim was speaking. "I'm sorry what?"

"I asked if you have any other experience with the weird and unnatural that you'd like to confess to me."

She saw he was teasing her and for a brief moment they smiled at each other before each shyly looked away. "No," she laughed. "I swear this is the first time."

"Right," he said, his tone implying he didn't believe her in the slightest.

"It is, I swear!"

Another pause of silence, then Jim spoke again. "I saw him yesterday."

She knew who he meant. "Where?"

"Everywhere. At the gas station, at work. Even in my dreams."

"I'm sorry. I should have known he'd harass you."

"Doesn't matter," he shrugged. "But I guess it does almost make me believe your story."

"Well that's better than nothing, I guess."

"But here's the thing, Beesly --"

Beesly. He hadn't called her that in what seemed like ages. "What?"

"Nobody would ever believe any of this."

"I know."

"So I think it's in our best interests to keep all of this as our little secret."

"I totally agree."

"Except maybe Creed," Jim mused. "Creed would believe it."

"I think House would have a hard time believing in the existence of Creed," Pam joked.

At that moment Pam noted with a twinge of disappoint that Jim's car was being driven into the parking lot. A guy in a white t-shirt and jeans got out of Jim's car, gave the duo a hardy wave, then climbed into the passenger's seat of the pickup that had followed him in.

Jim pulled his car keys out of his coat pocket. "Do I really want to know how he managed to drive it without the keys?"

Pam shook her head. "No, it's better if you don't think too hard about any of this."

He smirked again. "True."

Jim leg bounced nervously and Pam knew he was going to be leaving. She wished she had some reason to ask him to stay. She felt like things had thawed between them a bit in the last half hour, and she hated to see it end. But she didn't feel like she had the right to push him. Not after everything.

Jim stood up, so Pam did as well.

"I guess I better get going now," he said, staring down at the keys in his hand.

"Yeah, okay."

Jim walked down the two steps to the concrete, and took little more than a step or two before turning back around. "Did, um...do you want to go get some breakfast?"

Pam couldn't have hid her smile if she'd had to. "That sounds really, really great," she said. "Can I go in and change first?"

"Sure," he nodded. "But no fair showering since I didn't have that luxury this morning."

"Fair enough," she laughed, walking up a step and toward the door. "Do you want to wait inside?"

"No, I'm good."

"You've got to be freezing."

Jim shrugged. "You aren't going to be that long, are you?"

"No, but there's no need for you --"

"I'm really fine out here," he interrupted.

Pam had a thought. "He's really not in the house anymore, you know."

Jim rested his foot on the first step. "You mean House is not in the house?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yikes. You're definitely waiting out here for that one."

Pam practically bounded to her bedroom. She kept reminding herself that she was in no position to assume anything from an invitation to breakfast, but she could not deny the bubble of hope and happiness that filled her. She was so intent on finding something nice to quickly change into that she didn't see the note on her mirror at first. She didn't see it until she was already changed, actually, and was about to brush her hair.

_See? I told you I would fix it. I'm just that good. _

She laughed out loud and ran her fingers over the yellow sticky note. She had no intention of ever taking that message off her mirror.

She grabbed her jacket and stepped out onto the porch, where Jim was leaning against the banister. She locked the door and turned toward him.

He smiled at her and held out his hand. "Ready?"

Pam slipped her hand easily into his and smiled back. "Ready."


End file.
